Come Undone
by Grav
Summary: It isn’t that anagogic demons can’t read themselves, it’s that sometimes they need a little help along the way.


AN: A very long time ago, this was going to be about Wesley, and it was going to come after Lineage. Needless to say, it didn't.

We are never told if Angel merely implied that he wanted Lindsey killed, if he told Lorne flat out, or if Lorne took it upon himself to act. Either way, it's some pretty spectacular character development for the series finale.

Disclaimer: I am Joss Whedon. I own Angel and all of its affiliates. What's that? Oh, excuse me. I have to take my meds now.

Spoilers: Right up to the end, m'dears.

Summary: It isn't that anagogic demons can't read themselves, it's that sometimes they need a little help along the way.

**Come Undone**

He drifted into the smoky bar, his presence duly noted by the super-sized bouncer, but by none of the other patrons. The bouncer knew he wouldn't cause trouble. He didn't do that anymore. He didn't drink anymore either, and as he made his way to an empty table, he wondered what in the world could possibly be so important that his current employer would send him to a place where he couldn't possibly have any fun at all. Not that fun was ever an issue.

He sat down and took in the room around him. Something about the layout was familiar, and memories of another bar in a city now far away threatened to overwhelm him. After a few moments, he realized the source of his familiarity. The tables were arranged so that every patron could view the raised platform, which featured only one stool and a microphone. This was a place for karaoke.

He gave some thought to waving down a waitress and ordering a drink, just for show. For all he was no longer the focus of the universe's malcontent, bar owners tended to be happier with occupants who made purchases. He could afford to buy a drink he had no intention to consume. He'd gone from penniless to vastly overpaid to literally having the world at his feet. For all the good it did him, given his current circumstances. But he didn't order a drink, because the waitress looked right through him. Even here, some people were like that. So he sat alone, with nothing except an empty toothpick holder to amuse him, wondering what it was exactly that he was here to do.

The lights dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated the stage and stool. An expectant hush fell over the crowd. He tried hard not to be swept away in his memory again, but failed as a familiar silhouette appeared. The nose and chin were as he remembered and the horns were unchanged. As the figure stepped into the light, he saw that Lorne was still playing the part.

There were lines of deeper green around those red eyes now. Lines which were carefully concealed with stage make-up, but which he knew to look for. Because he knew what caused them. Lorne had seen them all at their best, but more often than not, he had seen them at rock bottom.

"Good evening ladies, gentlemen and . . . whatever." Lorne had lost none of his panache and the audience laughed appreciatively. "I am going to get this ball rolling, so you've all got a few more minutes than you thought to buy ear plugs before we switch to open mic."

More laughter rolled through the bar. Lorne took a seat on the stool as the music began to play. At the table, the man who had come to listen abandoned the toothpick holder and leaned forward. Lorne hadn't seen him, but this was why he was here tonight. The song was not one he recognized, but this was not unexpected. He'd been out of the loop for a very long time now.

"_So unimpressed but so in awe  
Such a saint but such a whore  
So self aware, so full of shit  
So indecisive, so adamant  
I'm contemplating thinking about thinking  
It's overrated, just get another drink in  
Watch me come undone  
  
They're selling razor blades and mirrors in the street  
Pray that when I'm coming down you'll be asleep  
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet  
Because I'm scum. I come undone.  
I come undone  
I come undone"_

He was almost knocked through the wall behind him. by the force of Lorne's emotion. Recent changes in his existence had given him a whole host of new abilities, and of all of them, the anagogic ones were the most difficult to adapt to. And Lorne was by far the most tormented being he had yet tried to read.

"_So rock and roll, so corporate suit  
So damn ugly, so damn cute  
So well trained, so animal  
So need your love, so damn you all  
I'm not scared of dying, I just don't want to  
If I stopped lying, I'd just disappoint you  
I've come undone_

_They're selling razor blades and mirrors in the street  
Pray that when I'm coming down you'll be asleep  
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet  
Because I'm scum. I come undone.  
I come undone  
I come undone"_

It was pretty much a given that Lorne was angry. And even more so that he was angry with Angel. It was a sick sort of anger. The kind where you're at least as angry with yourself as you are with the other person. The kind that eats you up when you don't deal with it. And Lorne wasn't dealing.

_So write another ballad  
Mix it on a Wednesday  
Sell it on a Thursday  
Buy a yacht by Sunday  
It's a love song  
A love song  
  
Do another interview  
Sing a bunch of lies  
Tell about celebrities that I despise  
And sing love songs  
We sing love songs  
So sincere_

He'd never really stopped and thought about what Lorne had done for Wolfram and Hart. It seemed harmless enough if you only read the job description, but everything at the firm came with fine print. He could see now that Lorne's role had been at least as nefarious as his own. His was a business of backdoor dealings. Lorne was in the spotlight of media culture, at least as devastating a weapon as the trade of spells in the daemon underworld. But he had never thought that Lorne had hated his job with such a passion. At least had been able to do some good. A good day for Lorne meant he hadn't had to talk anyone out of a pill bottle.

_  
They're selling razor blades and mirrors in the street  
Pray that when I'm coming down you'll be asleep  
The young pretender and my crown's a broken seat  
Because I'm scum. I come undone.  
I've come undone  
I've come undone  
I've come undone  
I've come undone_

He had been seen. Lorne looked right at him throughout the final chorus, singing with his usual passion, but his eyes had died just a little bit more. He knew very well that Lorne had wanted to be left alone. If he had known it was Lorne he was intended to hear, he might have protested coming. Not that it would have changed anything.

The music faded, and the bar erupted into tumultuous applause. He didn't clap, and when Lorne broke eye contact with him, some of the spark returned to the demon's eyes. But he turned down the repeated requests for an encore and left the stage. A waitress handed him his drink, and he made his way towards the semi-occupied table.

He didn't say anything when Lorne sat down. He was, after all, here to listen, not to talk. Lorne didn't say anything at first either. As the demon downed his drink, his manner changed. He seemed almost visibly smaller as the gusto of his flamboyant stage presence left him.

"I didn't expect you here tonight." Lorne began finally, speaking very quietly. "I guess I always figured one of you would show up eventually, but I didn't think it would be you. You, of all of them, understood about being left alone."

He said nothing. It was so dim and smoky, he couldn't even see Lorne's lips move.

"You won't sing for me, then, I suppose. You were always a crappy singer, and this place is a little more classy than Caritas."

He said nothing. Lorne finished the last of his drink.

"Do you know what he had me do? What I did for him? Did he tell you?" Lorne's voice almost broke. "It doesn't matter. It's not like any of us can change it."

He said nothing. Lorne began to fiddle with the toothpick holder.

"I wasn't like you, you know. You didn't mind killing things. Oh, I know they were evil, and not always human, but you didn't drink yourself into oblivion every time you had to do it."

He said nothing. Lorne waved his glass at a passing waitress.

"All I ever wanted was Caritas. Peace and music. That was all. But I let him drag me into his world. And what good did any of it do? What good did we do Cordy or Fred or the dozens of others who were hurt or killed along the way?"

He said nothing. A waitress brought Lorne another drink, and took away the empty glass.

"You can't sing for me, can you. You weren't that bad, unless you were drunk. Not like some of the others. They were truly awful."

He said nothing. Lorne set down the second glass a little more firmly then was absolutely necessary.

"I like it here. It isn't Caritas, but it's nice. I'm even almost happy. I've got issues, of course, but you can't sing if you don't have issues. Isn't that what we fought for? So that people could sing when they wanted to."

He said nothing.

"I thought so." Lorne smiled. The first real smile he had seen in a very long time. "Then, Mr. Wyndam-Price, I guess somebody got their happily ever after after all."

Wesley nodded.

**finis**

AN: "Come Undone" is by Robbie Williams off of the Escapology album. I changed a few of the lyrics so that it made a bit more sense contextually, and so I wouldn't have to up the rating to R.

gravitynotincluded, August 18, 2004.


End file.
